Trust Is Everything
by Ciya
Summary: The hunt for a death apparition at the Claddagh Cove Hotel turns deadly.
1. Chapter 1

_The strange things one comes up with in the middle of the night when you're dying of heat prostration and the fans don't quite drown out the distant drone of the gazillion and one Harleys going to the 2008 Sturgis Rally._

**Trust Is Everything**

_"Ghosts are benevolent entities…mostly." - Fox Mulder¹_

_**Nine days ago  
**_"Sam check this out," Dean held the newspaper under his kid brother's nose pointing at the article he'd just read.

"Dean!" Sam said recoiling from the paper thrust beneath his face; he shoved the paper away and finished bringing a forkful of waffle to his mouth. Dean laughed as he took a bite of ham and eggs. Sam glared then read aloud, "'_The Curse of the Claddagh Cove Hotel Claims Two More Victims'..._you're kidding right?"

"Nope."

"'_Two bodies were found at the Claddagh Cove Hotel last night after calls for assistance were received by the Ogunquit 911 Emergency Services, names of the deceased have been withheld pending notification of family members. Last month search personnel discovered the bodies of Sean and Ian Jacobson and Janine Thibodaux in the abandoned hotel. Family members had reported the cousins missing three days prior. Autopsy reports released by the county medical examiner list the cause of death for Thibodaux as a broken neck and inconclusive in the deaths of the Jacobsons. The police are investigating and have no suspects at this time._' Okay I still don't see anything curse like."

"Flip the page." The front page of the _Ogunquit Times _dated Tuesday, 27 December 1904 was reproduced. Under a five inch by three inch, black and white picture of large Victorian era hotel was a bold headline:

**-Double Murder and Suicide at the famous Claddagh Cove Hotel-  
**The Claddagh Cove Hotel is world renown for its lush gardens, healing waters and first class accommodations. Today is was the setting for a terrible tragedy. The victims are Ilya Ostafeiko aged 26, Anastasiya Ostafeiko aged 20 of Yalta, Ukraine, and Ginger Flannery aged 16 of Drogheda, Ireland. Before dying from his injuries, Mr. Ostafeiko told the police that his wife had walked in on him _in flagrante delicto_ with the upstairs chambermaid and in a fit of jealous rage, she seized one of his daggers and sliced the maid's throat open from ear to ear. She then proceeded to stab him in the chest and stomach numerous times before cutting out his eyes. After an intense search of the hotel and its grounds, Anastasiya's body was discovered lying in a pool of blood in an unused attic room, her wrists slashed. Pinned with the bloody dagger to a sheet of monogrammed stationery were the missing eyeballs and below them a scrawled sentence in Ukrainian. When translated it read, '_His eyes are for only me'_.

Sam looked up at Dean, "tragic but still doesn't look like our kinda thing."

Dean gestured with his coffee cup towards the newspaper, "keep reading."

"'_These are just the latest in a long line of tragedies at the hotel. The hotel had suffered through a decline for several years after the 1904 murders and finally closed in 1920. The hotel sold in 1960 and the new owners renovated the building from top to bottom and reopened in 1961. It didn't take long before rumors of mysterious accidents started to plague the hotel. In 1963, the rumors became reality when the bodies of two elderly guests, Sister Cora Haakon and Sister Bernice Haas, were found in a closed off area of the indoor pool. Tragedy struck again in 1965, when a maintenance worker discovered the bodies of Olav and Heidi Peterson inside the hotel's elevator and in 1966, Nicholas Smithe was found dead in his bathroom. An employee, Craig Craft, was a suspect in Smithe's death until his body was discovered a week later, hanging from a light fixture in a vacant third floor room. The Peterson and Smithe families sued the hotel for negligence and the hotel closed its doors in late 1970._' Renovated…" he muttered.

"Interested?" Dean watched Sam reread the paragraphs and could practically see the gears shifting in his brain.

"Yeah," he replied, folding the paper and placing it on the table, "drop me off at the library and I'll so some research."

_**Present  
**_Muttering, "Dean where in the hell are you?" Sam reconnoitered the first floor of the hotel His frustration level rose as he checked his watch for the third time in ten minutes. "Damnit Dean," leaning against the door to the ballroom he flashed his light around the dusty, junk filled room, "first you don't want to split up then you don't show up on time."

"Sam."

The youngest Winchester spun around bringing his shotgun up. "Dean." He relaxed and lowered his weapon, "what held you…DEAN NO!" Sam yelled when his brother pointed a .45 at him and pulled the trigger twice. The shotgun clattered to the floor as the stunned man clutched his stomach; he fell back against the wall, slowly slid down to his knees then onto his side. "Dean?" Sam choked out between clenched teeth. The man he'd looked up to since he was four years old smirked at him and walked away. Groaning, Sam curled up into a ball on the floor unsuccessfully trying to escape the fiery pain radiating out from bullet wounds in his stomach. Blood dripped down between clenched fingers and over saturated clothing into an ever-widening puddle beneath his body.

"Sam? Sammy! Answer me damnit!" A terrified yell from his little brother had sent Dean running down the main staircase. He skidded to a halt when he saw a figure curled up on the floor. "Sammy?" He knelt down next to the quivering body, "Sam where are you hurt?" he asked while reaching out to grab his brother's shoulder. Sam flinched and Dean pulled his hand back sharply, his eyes widening in shock. "Hey, hey it's me bro," the older man said gently as he leaned down and ran his fingers tentatively through the kid's long hair, "Sammy where are you hurt?"

Pain filled hazel eyes looked up at him, "De..Dean why?"

Confused Dean asked, "why what?"

"Why d..did you shoot mm..me?"

He gently rolled Sam onto his back, "I didn't Sammy. I didn't shoot you," Dean replied pulling at his brother's resisting hands, "sorry kiddo, I need to see where you're hit." Sam threw his head back, screaming, when his torturer yanked his hands away and pushed his shirts up. His breathing turned ragged and the pain grew unbearable when Dean manipulated his stomach. The last thing Sam heard through the enveloping darkness was his brother's voice. "Sam there's no…don't you dare pass ou…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Trust Is Everything - Chapter 2**

"Death appar…way Sam…acting…ven…it…" He rolled his head but the fluctuating voice didn't go away, his head ached and he was hot, so very hot. His skin felt as if it would burst into flames at any minute. Kicking at a heavy smothering cloth, he tried to find some cool air. Instead, the motion sent a burst of agonizing pain through his stomach. Nausea rolled in strong waves and he gagged when vomit filled his throat.

"Oh god, Sam!" Dean cried out, dropping his cell phone as he rushed to the bed. He rolled him over onto his side while simultaneously shoving a trash can under the kid's face. Holding Sam's sweat soaked forehead and rubbing his back gently, he waited for the heaving to subside. When his brother seemed to be through trying to turn his stomach inside out, Dean held a glass of water to his lips, "here rinse your mouth out. No Sammy," he said pulling the glass away as the shivering mass of little brother tried to gulp the liquid down, "you'll make yourself sick again." Blinking blearily up into worried green eyes, Sam whined like a kicked puppy. Dean sighed, "Sam just rinse your mouth out then you can have a few small sips. Okay?"

The sick man exhaled noisily and Dean took that as a sign of acquiescence. Setting the glass aside, Dean eased him back down onto the damp sheets. The older man wished he could change the sheets along with Sam's sweat soaked t-shirt and boxers but he knew the motel manager would definitely call the cops this time if he heard Sam screaming again. The 'catching ones privates in a zipper' excuse only worked so many times. Rubbing his hand over his face in frustration, he reached out and grabbed more ice cubes out of the bucket, wrapped them in damp hand towels and placed them in Sam's armpits and under his knees. His brother groaned and arched his back slightly as Dean gently placed another ice cube stuffed towel on his abdomen. Sam slowly sank back down onto the bed passing out as the cold lessened the burning pain. Running fingers through his brother's wet hair Dean placed a thermometer in Sam's ear and waited for the beep. "Shit…105.1°F." Placing a cold compress on the unconscious man's forehead, he couldn't stop from thinking '_This is all my fault…I shouldn't have left him alone'_. Growling Dean pushed the unproductive thought from his mind, walked over and snagged his cell phone from the floor. "Bobby?"

"_Still here Dean. How's Sam doin'?_"

"Not good. His temperature's gone up two degrees in the last hour and a half." He reached over and rotated the laptop so the keyboard was facing him, hitting the enter key the last page he'd been reading came up on the screen. "I'm about ready to drag him to the hospital."

"_There isn't anything the doctors can do for him, you know that._"

"Yeah I know," he sighed, "I can see it now, I tell them Sam is reacting to spirit inflicted, invisible gunshot wounds and they shove both him and me into adjoining rubber rooms faster than you can say 'delusional psychosis'."

"_Dean…_" admonished Bobby.

Dean sat down and clicked onto another page. "Bobby there's nothing in Dad's journal and I haven't found anything on the 'net that's even close..." He could hear Bobby flipping pages in the background.

"_Just start at the beginning, you said the autopsy reports on the deaths in the sixties listed heart failure, positional asphyxia and ligature strangulation as the causes of death._"

"Yep, Sam dug further and it turns out the same coroner did all those autopsies. In his unreleased notes, he wrote how perplexed he was by the first four deaths and how he was going to report them as 'inconclusive' but the local sheriff insisted on a cause of death so he obliged. Even the present-day coroner who performed Sean's and Ian's autopsies wrote in his notes '_he wouldn't have been surprised if the Jacobson cousins had gotten up and walked out of his morgue'_. Janine Thibodaux was a different story, she was found with a broken neck below a shattered third story window." Turning the page in the notebook, he squinted to make out the words in Sam's cramped handwriting. "The latest two deaths really piqued Sammy's interest," Dean glanced back at his little brother, rubbing his eyes he turned back to the notebook, "they called 911...separately. Sophia Bicek reported she'd been stabbed in the chest and Brett Ulmer said he'd been beaten repeatedly with a baseball bat and was coughing up blood."

"_And no corresponding wounds, blood or murder weapons were found right?_"

"Right and one other thing, all the victims were blood related…in one way or another."

"_Blood related?_ _Blood relatives…blood relatives…that sounds…you said Sam claimed you shot him?_" The thudding of books hitting the floor came through the phone loud and clear. "_Now where is that tome?_" he said in an exasperated tone.

"Yeah he did."

"_You two first thought this was a death apparition - what made you think that?_"

"The guy was murdered by his wife."

"_Are you sure they were married?_"

"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure, I speak fluent Ukrainian and early twentieth century marriage certificates are just a keystroke away."

"_Don't be an ass Dean._"

He let out a grunt of frustration, "I'm sorry Bobby."

"_If these spirits are what I think they are those two weren't married; they were related, first cousins possibly but more than likely siblings._"

"Brother and sister? Gross…uh, hold on." Bobby heard Sam groaning in the background. "Sammy you're okay, you're okay," Dean spoke soothingly to the restless man. He doubted Sam could understand him, his half-opened eyes were fever glazed and unfocused. He wiped his kid brother's face with the now warm cloth, soaked it in ice water and placed it back on Sam's forehead. The hazel eyes closed and he muttered a few unintelligible words before resettling into an uneasy sleep. Dean checked the ice bundles under Sam's arms and knees before glancing at the bundle on his stomach. Deciding not to cause the kid any unnecessary pain he sat back down at the table. "He's getting worse Bobby."

In a worried tone Bobby continued, "_this type of spirit only goes after blood relatives Dean and once they have their hooks in you…"_

"What. Do. I. Need. To. Do?" Dean growled at his old friend.

"_Write this down._" The older Winchester huffed in the background. "_Damnit boy! The spell work to save your brother's life is very specific and the ritual to disperse these spirits is even more complicated. So are you ready or not?_"

"Go."


	3. Chapter 3

**Trust Is Everything - Chapter 3**

Dean wasn't sure what smelled worse the tea made from yarrow, willow, rosemary, ginseng and echinacea or the smudge bundle containing thyme, sage and Saint John's wort. Whichever one it was it had given him a headache that wouldn't quit. Getting Sam to drink the tea would have been worse if the kid had been more coherent, as it was Sam had vomited only a quarter of it back up. Then he almost forgot to disconnect the smoke detector before lighting the smudge bundle. Explaining away the sigils on the walls, window and doors would've been difficult but doable however, a straightforward answer for what he'd done to the carpet and floor wasn't as easy.

"Looks like Darien Van Pelt's credit is toast," Dean muttered looking around the room. He double-checked his list before lighting the smudge bundle then blowing out the flames. Casting a protective circle, he waved the smoking herbs into the north corner of the room while reciting, "_Negatieve energie kan niet blijven, ik vrijgeving en legt zij haar op haar weg. Negatieve energie, ik bannen u, als mijn woord, zodat zij afstand worden._"² Then he moved over to the east corner repeated the smudging and reciting until all four corners of the room were blessed and the circle complete. The acrid smoke caught in his throat forcing him to cough as he blessed the four corners of Sam's bed. Being careful not to disturb the circle of agrimony, he lit the candles standing at the five points of the pentagram drawn on the floor beneath the bed.

Looking down at his younger brother's fever flushed face Dean murmured, "show time Sammy." He placed a knotted black cord over Sam's heart before waving the smudge bundle from head to toe, "_Het kwaad sturen moet komen te rusten - Weerspiegelen het terug naar wie weet best,_" from right shoulder to left, "_Energie uitgegeven voor het kwaad en Bane, gaan terug nu uit vandaar naar u kwam._" Lastly he gently swirled the smoke over Sam's heart, "_Ver weg Ik stuur u dit uur - Kunnen alle uw pogingen te schaden dan weer zure._"³ He repeated the spell twice then placed the herbs onto a ceramic plate. Picking up the cord, he cut the knot, "_zodat zij afstand worden._" Dean dropped the pieces of cord onto the herbs, lit a match and dropped it onto the cord. Watching the flames shoot up then die down he could only hope Bobby was right and this spell would free his brother from the spirit's control.

Sighing he sat down on the bed and rubbed his smoke irritated eyes with the palms of his hands. "Don't let those bastards win Sammy." He patted his brother on the thigh and stood up, turning back when he heard a low groan. "Sammy?" Placing a hand on a much cooler forehead he asked, "can you hear me Sammy?" Sam didn't respond. "Open your eyes Sam," he ordered. He stood there for a few more minutes watching his kid brother's face for any signs of his waking up. Muttering something about little brothers who don't listen to their elders, Dean broke the protective circle and blew out the candles.

Dean had just finished sweeping up the scattered agrimony when a loud gasp and a thud drew his attention to the bed. Sam was on the floor, crab crawling backwards as fast as his uncoordinated limbs could move. Breathing hard his back hit the wall and he frantically pushed himself up, almost climbing the wall until he was standing. Sam's eyes rolled around the room wildly until they landed on his older brother. "Dean? Wa..what's going on?" Shivering, he looked down at his damp shirt and boxers, "why are my clothes wet?" he wrapped an arm around his stomach, grimacing slightly, "my stomach hurts."

"Sam…"

His eyes widened under overlong bangs and he started to hyperventilate, "you..you shot me."

"No Sammy I didn't…"

"YOU SHOT ME!" Sam pulled up his shirt, staring at his unblemished skin he slid down the wall while gasping for air.

Snatching a small paper bag from the floor, Dean rolled down the top edge before placing it over the younger man's nose and mouth. "Breathe slow and deep bro," he said holding the bag on Sam's face with one hand and gripping his shoulder with the other, "slow and deep."

"Gi' off me," his voice muffled, Sam tried desperately to get his brother off him, pushing against his arms and chest. The lack of oxygen soon took its toll, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped against the wall.

_snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn_

'_Coffee, I smell coffee and bacon…no…sausage?' _his stomach growled, '_Wait, my stomach…wasn't I shot? Dean he..he shot me. No, he tried to suffocate me with…with a paper…bag. Crap my head hurts.'_ Sam groaned and opened his eyes, blinking rapidly he watched Dean get up from the table and walk over to him.

"Are you going to freak out on me again?" Dean asked while holding out a styrofoam cup and two red pills.

Accepting the pills and cup Sam answered, "uhm, no?" Taking a sip of coffee to wash the down the pain reliever he realized how thirsty he was and gulped down the steaming brew. Dean grabbed the cup out of his brother's hand. "Hey! That's my coffee!"

"You're going to make yourself sick dude." He went over to the table and brought back a wrapped sandwich. Handing Sam the sandwich and the confiscated coffee cup he said, "take it slow Sammy." Sitting down on the opposite bed Dean waited for his kid brother to eat half of his breakfast. "Do you remember what happened back at the hotel?"

Scrunching his forehead in thought, Sam looked at his brother over the top of the cup. He swallowed, lowered the cup and put the sandwich down on the bed. "You shot me with your .45," Sam stared over his brother's shoulder at the window, "then you walked away."

"You weren't shot Sam."

He rubbed his stomach, the pain from the bullet wounds still fresh in his memory. Staring into the cup he said, "it sure felt like I was." Sam took another sip, "we aren't dealing with a death apparition are we?"

"No, no we're not," Dean replied standing up and walking back to the table. He shuffled through his notes, "Sam." His brother started and broke away from his staring contest with the cup.

"Huh?"

"Go take a shower, you're ripe."

"Nice Dean," Sam answered standing up and swaying a bit. Dean hurried over and grabbed onto Sam's arm to steady him. "I'm all right," he said pulling his arm back and shuffling to the bathroom door. "Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you try to suffocate me with a paper bag?"

"Technically," Dean shrugged. "You were hyperventilating."

"Oh," Sam nodded, shutting the bathroom door.


	4. Chapter 4

_After I read this story to my daughter, she looked at me and asked, "Where does this come from?" -grin-_

**Trust Is Everything - Chapter 4**

Sam felt as if he'd been run over by a garbage truck followed by a semi and just wanted to crash in bed for the next three days. Instead, he got up and ready for work cause if Dean knew how badly he felt he would handcuff Sam to his bed while he went and exorcised the spirits. '_And probably get his ass killed,_' Sam thought completing the sigils on the floor of the room they approximated had been the scene of the 1904 murders. Standing up he lit the white candles surrounding the sigils then carefully stepped over the salt and crushed horehound circle he'd drawn around the wooden altar to protect him while performing the exorcism. Kneeling down he arranged bundles of herbs, a black candle, matches and a copper bowl on an altar cloth. "Dean!"

"Yeah?" he replied, stepping into the doorway of the attic room.

"I'm ready to start the exorcism," Sam glanced down at Dean's notes, mentally checking off each part of the ritual. Looking up he added, "be careful."

Dean chambered a rock salt shell in his shotgun. "Aren't I always?" Sam cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at him. "Don't answer that." He stepped back into the hallway, waiting for the Ostafeikos to manifest. Cold fingers ran up and down Dean's spine while he kept watch. Fingering the hazel cross Bobby had insisted they wear for protection, he listened to Sam's murmurs and smelled the sharp scents of asafetida and cloves burning.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he looked back into the room and saw a tall, thin, dark haired man wearing a loose-fitting white shirt and black pants appear outside the salt circle…_Ilya_. The spirit watched Sam with an inquisitive look on his face and when he caught Dean's eye, he smiled and inclined his head. Dean did a double take when he noticed the man had the same Polish shaped eyes as his brother.

"Sam."

"Hmm?"

"Look," Dean nodded his head in the spirit's direction. Behind Ilya, a swirling mist coalesced into a short, busty, titian haired girl wearing a turn of the century maid's uniform…_Ginger._ She stared curiously at the Winchesters until her eyes widened, she grabbed her neck as a gash appeared on her throat, her mouth opened into a high pitched scream that ended in a chilling gurgling gasp as bright crimson blood flowed out from between her fingers. The man didn't fair any better as gaping holes appeared in his shirt and blood colored his hands red, his screaming turned into a terrifying screech as his eyes disappeared leaving behind bloody hollows.

Hesitating briefly in his recitation, Sam looked back at Dean, a worried look on his face. Dean gave him a reassuring nod at the same time as a cold wind rushed down the corridor, flowing into the open doorway. Dean's jacket flapped behind him as he turned toward the wind and took a defensive stance, keeping a tense eye out for anything dangerous. The candle flames fluttered and Sam's bangs whipped into his eyes as he concentrated on his spell work. The wind was blowing the salt and horehound mixture away and he knew that soon there would be no barrier between him and the spirit's wrath.

"_You cheated on me, my love,_" proclaimed a lilting voice with a pronounced Ukrainian accent.

Dean spun to his left, an icy, cold breath in his ear caused him to shiver and unconsciously move away from the doorway. "She's here." Sam nodded while adding another pinch of herbs to the smoldering ashes in the copper bowl.

"_You said I'm the only one, my brother…there would never be anyone else._"

"Show yourself bitch!" Dean yelled, stepping back against the door jam as the wind pressure increased and voices wailed around him. "Read faster Sammy!" Grunting an acknowledgement the younger man lit the black candle and sprinkled the ashes from the copper bowl onto the flame.

"_I will have my revenge, my husband._" A tall, slender woman became visible and the coppery smell of blood filled the air. Her long blonde hair whipped about her head as she ran at Dean, her bloody, clawed hands reaching out to rip him to shreds. Anastasiya's mouth opened wider than humanly possible, a cacophonous noise spilled out and rose to eardrum splitting levels, shattering the remaining windows.

Sam shut his eyes, curled up and threw his arms up to protect his face and head from the glass shards raining down on him. Tiny rivulets of blood started to flow from the many cuts to his head, hands and arms when he sat back up. Shaking the glass off the notes, he located his place and started to recite the last stanza of the exorcism. Dean quickly twisted away as the glass flew by him then turned back and pulled the shotgun's trigger, hitting Anastasiya with a spray of rock salt then yelled, "Sammy you okay?" Not hearing a reply Dean looked back into the room, "shit."

Jumping when the shotgun went off Sam continued his recitation not even stopping to answer Dean's call. Hearing Dean's swear he glanced up to see a pale woman glaring at him from two feet away. The air pressure in the room quadrupled making it hard for Sam to pull in a breath. Screeching, Anastasiya flew at Sam only to bounce off the invisible barrier created by the sigils spray-painted on the floor. Undaunted the spirit tried to fly above the barrier only to be stopped yet again. Her eyes glowed red and her face contorted into a horrible grimace as she threw herself repeatedly into the barrier. Becoming even more deranged, Anastasiya twisted around until she resembled a mini tornado. The force of her energy was strong enough to pick up small objects in the room and fling them about.

"Sam!" Dean ducked as a chunk of sheetrock came hurtling past him. Sam held up a finger signaling to give him a minute as he too ducked the flying debris. Yelling out the last words of the exorcism Sam then blew out the flame of the black candle, which had somehow stayed lit through the maelstrom. The effect on Anastasiya's spirit was instantaneous, one minute she was letting out a deafening scream and the next she was exploding in a burning cold, bright light. The force of the explosion picked up both Winchesters and tossed them into the walls behind them.

_snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn_

Dean opened his eyes and the minute he moved his head to locate the bells ringing in his ears, the world spun a complete 360° before going dark. Something was dripping on his face and he smelled rain, he blinked when a bright light flashed…_lightning?_ He heard a dull boom and felt the building tremble…_thunder?_ His head felt heavy and his ears were full of cotton. His thoughts disjointed, Dean rolled onto his back and tried to focus on a chunk of 2x4 impaled in the wall four inches from his nose. "Whoa."

Lifting a hand to his head, he came across a large lump on the right side of his forehead at the hairline. Gentle probing caused him to wince as pain shot through his temple. His nose itched and his fingers encountered tackiness. Peering at the two right hands floating in front of him he saw dark red stains covering his fingertips. Running his fingers up his nose, he found a sluggishly bleeding cut between his left eyebrow and nose. "Must remember to duck next time a spirit explodes," he muttered. He slowly turned his head and when lightning flashed again he thought he saw the bottom of a couple of boots. Staring, he waited for the lightning to flash a third time and this time he was able to make out a couple of jean-clad legs attached to the boots. '_Sam.'_

Sam groaned and tried to roll over, only to discover that was a very bad idea. His chest was on fire, his head felt as if it was going to explode and his arms hurt like hell plus he was cold…and wet. Shivering he opened his eyes then quickly shut them again when a bright light flashed. "Aagh," he grunted trying to move an arm up to cover his eyes. He felt the building tremble when the thunder boomed overhead. Kicking out with his feet he managed to push himself back against the wall and placing an elbow underneath his chest he was able to shift up into a sort of reclining-slash-sitting position. With help from the lightning flashes he was able to survey the damage wrought by Anastasiya's demise…glass and debris strewn all over the floor, gouged walls and twisted window frames. "De'n!" his yell came out more like an abortive yelp when his ribs protested strenuously. Sam wrapped his arms around his chest and fell over, grunting when he hit the wet ground. "This ssucks."

"You said it bro."

Startled, Sam instinctively kicked out knocking Dean to the ground.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Dean lay on the ground rubbing his knee. "It's me Sam…it's me."

"I'm ssorry De..dean. You sstartled mme and…you're ble..bleeding." The blood looked eerily black, Dean's fallen flashlight throwing up strange shadows onto his face.

"So are you," Dean replied, grabbing his flashlight and sliding over to check his brother's injuries. The entire right side of Sam's face was covered with blood. Gently probing, Dean found a bump, several small cuts in his hairline and one large cut from his eyebrow to his cheekbone that would need stitches. The arms of Sam's plaid shirt were torn and mottled with blood. Sam's shivering intensified the pain in his ribs. "Your ribs feel broken Sam?" he asked while running his hands firmly over them.

Sam's teeth chattered uncontrollably, "nnnno ju..just bru..bruised I th..think." The younger man shifted away from the probing hands. "Wh..what about yyou? Hhow's yourr hhead?" Dean helped Sam sit up straighter and lean back against the wall.

"Sore," he flashed the light around the room, "where's your jacket?"

"Do..don't kn..know," he said sighing and closing his eyes, not even bothering to look around the room.

"Sammy don't fall asleep."

"Nnot tired. Cccold."

"Join the club dude." He moved the beam around the room searching for his brother's jacket. A dark pile of something in the corner of the room caught his eye. He got to his feet and shuffled forward carefully, his equilibrium shot. The dark mass turned out to be the duffel bag Sam had used to transport the exorcism materials. Dean reached down for the handles and came back empty handed. Rubbing his eyes, he willed the double vision to go away and tried again, this time snagging the handles. Unzipping it he found the younger man's jacket stuffed inside, "found your jacket Sammy." A grunt was all the response he got in return.

Sam watched Dean weave his way back and drop the jacket onto the floor next to him. "De..dean ccan you ssee ok..okay?" he asked reaching out for the jacket.

"Of course I can see alright," Dean replied, kneeling down to help Sam put the jacket on.

"You're sseeing dou..double are..aren't you," he said pulling the jacket tightly around his shivering body. "You ddropped mmy jacket nnext to mme and wh..when you rreached for mmy arm you hi..hit the wall wi..ith your ha..hand inst..stead."

Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head, "Sammy let's just get out of here. You're freezing and my head is killing me…we'll talk once we get cleaned up." He pulled Sam's arm around his shoulders and heaved him up. Sam winced and ground his teeth together to keep from yelling. He swayed a bit when Dean let go of him to kneel down and stuff his shotgun into the duffel bag, he swung it over his shoulder and stood back up. Grabbing a hold of his kid brother again they stumbled out of the ruined room and down a couple of corridors, stopping at the top of the grand staircase. "You ready for this Sam," Dean asked as they leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

"Mme? Wh..what about you?" the physical exertion warmed him up so he was able to walk a bit steadier and lean on Dean less. "You've rrun into three out of ffour doorways."

"They jumped out in front of me," Dean tried to joke.

"Dean."

"Come on," he grabbed Sam's arm, "let's get this over with." They slowly descended the stairs sticking close to the wall, not trusting the wooden banister. Dean wanted to celebrate when they finally made it down to the ground floor without tripping or falling. He didn't even mind the wind whipping the rain into their faces as they staggered quickly to the safety of the Impala. What did cause him to grumble in irritation was Sam's announcement that he was going to drive them back to the motel. "Sam I think I can drive my own car!"

Turning the heater up to high he turned towards the older man, "Dean how many fingers am I holding up?" Sam asked giving his brother the one finger salute.

"Fine," he answered gruffly, "just remember that when you get us stuck in a ditch." He would never admit it aloud but he was glad Sam insisted on driving as he drifted into a light doze, the pain in his head receding slightly. A loud creak followed by a cold breeze woke him up.

"We're here Dean." Sam hauled his extremely heavy brother out of the car. Slamming the car door shut he turned and tripped over the curb, colliding head first with a support post for the motel's porch. "OW! Shit!" Sam put his free hand out to grab onto the post as the burning pain from the reopened head wound caused his knees to buckle.

"Sam?" His brother's pain filled cry dispersed the fog from Dean's brain. Instinctively gripping Sam's jacket tighter, he felt him stumble back and start to go down. "Sam!" Pulling his brother along with him, Dean managed to get them to the door of their room. After a quick search of his pockets his hands came up empty for the motel key. "I can't find my key, I need yours."

Bent over with his back against the wall of the motel and his right hand pressed against the freely flowing wound, Sam muttered, "left pocket." Dean started to put his hand into the jacket pocket. "Not jacket, jeans."

Hurting to bad to give a damn about how it looked to have his hand down the front pocket of his brother's jeans, Dean simply did it, pulled out the key and opened the door. "Come on kiddo," he said tugging Sam into the room then pushing him down on the farthest bed.

By the time the cleaning up was done, they were both exhausted. Dean's facial cut didn't require more than a good cleaning and some butterfly bandages while Sam's on the other hand, required checking for glass shards and more than a few stitches, which unfortunately took some time since Dean's double vision hadn't cleared up yet. Luckily, they ran out of small cuts before running out of bandages…and patience. They swallowed painkillers and antibiotics before changing into dry, blood-free t-shirts and sweats. Sam immediately fell into bed and pulled the covers over his head while Dean repacked their first aide kit.

Rummaging for a relatively clean washcloth in the bathroom vanity, Dean practically jumped for joy upon discovering a couple of hot water bottles forgotten by a previous lodger. As he filled the bottles, he could see the blankets quivering from his brother's shivering. '_Damn blood loss,_' he thought. He tucked one bottle in with Sam, received a muffled 'thanks Dean' and took the other one with him. Curling up with the bottle against his stomach, he drifted off as a memory of his mom tucking him into bed with a terry cloth covered hot water bottle played in his mind:

'_This will make you feel better sweetie._' -gently brushing soft, baby-fine blonde hair off a little forehead-

'_How Mommy?'_

-tucking blankets in close- '_It will make your shivers go away._'

'_Where do they go?'_

'_The timbers._'

'_Timbers?'_

'_Argh! Shiver me timbers!'_ -said in a bad parody of a pirate's voice-

-giggling- '_That's bad Mommy._'

'_It's the only kind I know love._'

_**FIN**_

_¹X-Files _s6:08 "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas"

These two spells were translated into Dutch at translation(dot)Babylon(dot)com so there will be grammatical errors.  
²"_Negative energy may not stay, I release it and send it on its way. Negative energy, I banish thee, And as my word, so mote it be!" _Found at www(dot)freespellsandrituals(dot)com

_³"Evil send must come to rest - Reflect it back to who knows best - Energy spent for evil and bane, Go back now from whence you came - Far away I send you this hour - May all your attempts to harm turn sour!" _Found at www(dot)everythingunderthemoon(dot)net


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